


Filthy Bloody Love

by Batsymomma11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Catwoman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Long-Term Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15694119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsymomma11/pseuds/Batsymomma11
Summary: During a mission, Batman gets bitten by a mythical creature he never thought existed. A vampire. Turning into one of them, is a pretty big problem but having to break up with Selina because all he wants to do is eat her? That's an entirely different catastrophe. One that threatens to destroy them both.Selina copes with the breakup via drugs, Bruce disappears into his work. They somehow always find their way back to each other and with only a little blood spilled.





	1. Chapter 1

**Bruce**

              “Please, I don’t know anything!”

                I flex my fingers over his throat, testing the strength it would take to collapse the windpipe. I can hear the blood rushing, pulsing in the shell of his ears. The hollow of the man’s throat flickers like moth wings, trembling in fear and I suck in a breath to taste the fear and savor it. My mouth waters.

                “You know something Harry.”

                “I swear, I—I don’t know anything. I was just—I was just looking around. Going for a walk.”

                “In the Underbelly…”

                “Look,” Harry twists in my grip, straining for a good breath, “I swear.”

                “I don’t like liars Harry,” I lick my lips and draw in the taste of the lie like I’m sipping expensive champagne. But this drink is bitter on my tongue and my gaze narrows. “Who did you trade with? I’m guessing you started working for Penguin again.”

                “No,” Harry jerks when I press till he squirms, “God, Bats. No. I swear it. I stopped running the drugs. It wasn’t worth the hassle.”

                “Mmmm,” I hum in the back of my throat, because I already know he’s lying. Above the scents of sweat, heady blood, and lie, there is the distinct powdered tang of cocaine. Penguin’s cocaine.

                “Bats,” his eyes have gone wide as saucers, skin waxen and sweat slicked and I try not to enjoy it as much as I’m going to. My teeth draw out, fangs grazing my lips in an elegant caress that has become as familiar as it is a sick pleasure. My stomach dips when Harry starts fighting in earnest and I make it quick, for us both.

                My teeth sink into the flesh on his neck and the bright taste of blood bursts in my mouth. God it’s good. I suck in a greedy mouthful unable to stop that first vibrant urge to kill and I have to slow myself, lest I drain Harry dry.

                Three swallows in, I can see what I wanted.

                Penguin selling Harry the cocaine. Harry peddling it to the riffraff in the Underbelly and what I wanted most. Harry selling the coke to Selina.

                I tear away, skin flushed, mouth suddenly tender around the ugliness of knowing and I grimace in disgust at my work. Harry leans like a ragdoll against the alley bricks, only my hands holding him up. His mouth is slack but his eyes are glossy black marbles, wary and frightened.

                I swipe a thumb over my lips to clear away the blood. “You lied.”

                “I’m sorry. It’s habit. I—I--.”

                I sigh, watching him fumble for an excuse and fail. “I’m disappointed Harry.”

                “I won’t do it again Bats.”

                “You will. Which is why I’m taking you in.”

                “Bats, I won’t. Please. I owe people. I can’t go back.”

                I laugh and it sounds brittle. If I had a dime for every excuse I’ve heard… “Let’s go Harry.”

                I drag him, pleading, clawing at the gauntlets on my arms. But he isn’t just weak from blood loss now, he’s weak from the fear and it’s easy work getting him into the holding cell of the Batmobile. A job finished and the night is young.

                I feel sick to my stomach.

                Turning on my booted heel, I program the Batmobile for the GCPD and grapple immediately to the nearest high ground. I’m already heading in the direction of Selina’s apartment before conscious thought slips in. I should stop. I shouldn’t involve myself or be going to her, but I don’t stop myself. Not tonight.

                I need to see her. I need to stop her. Because it’s my fault.

                Soaring over Gotham, I vaguely note the rise of water in the bay and the temperature to be one of the rare Spring nights that feel balmy and clear. Rather than gritty and wet.

                Her apartment is small. Studio style with no décor or finesse the way it would have been a year ago. She took it down, piece by piece as she began to loose herself to the drugs. Frowning, I make my way onto her fire escape and stop just outside the window panes. I see my reflection and hesitate painfully.

                Just as she has changed, so have I. My skin is pale, stark white against the black Kevlar of the suit and my eyes look hollow and empty. But they aren’t. I am haunted by the memories of the man I was and will never be again.

                Shaking myself, I open the window and slip inside without notice. She’s already started then.

                Sick to my stomach, I stalk through the apartment and find her easily on the bed, lying face up, a little bag of white snow in one hand. Her eyes are shuttered and heavy, mascara smeared on her cheeks amidst dried tears. The piece of me that will always belong to Selina crumples in on upon itself and I have to steady myself from taking in all the sorrow at once by smell alone. She reeks of despair. Her blood would even taste of it.

                Even still, my fangs ache to draw out. She’s an easy victim. Prey. The sickness in my stomach grows.

                “Did you come just to stare at me?”

                I blink at her motionless form then step closer. Her watery green gaze follows the motion and traces my every line. “You haven’t taken it yet.”

                “No.”

                “But you’re going to.”

                “Why do you care?”

                I stiffen, “That’s not fair Selina. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. I’ve always cared.”

                “Have you?” she props herself up on her elbows and I notice how her collarbones press against the thinness of her skin. Her pulse is slow and sluggish. My mouth begins to hurt worse and I take a precautionary step backwards.

                “You know I have.”

                She snorts, lying back down, “Save it. Leave Bruce.”

                “Selina…”

                “If I’m going to snort some coke I’ll do it. If not, I won’t. I haven’t decided.”

                “How long?”

                She shrugs, “Couple of months. I could stop. I don’t want to. It numbs everything. It works better for me than the heroin.”

                I understand the draw of it. The desire to make it all burn away into nothingness. If I could slip away, I would. But that simply isn’t an option for me, nor has it ever been. It won’t be for Selina. I can’t let it be.

                “You need some water.”

                She laughs, “Bruce, please. Just go. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you seeing me like this.”

                I’m reaching for her before I can check the move, because it’s dangerous at best, and take her arm. “Come.”

                Selina obeys but her eyes are cutting and we walk in a mismatched pair to her tiny excuse for a kitchen. I take time getting her glass of water to slow my breathing. To settle that ache that burns in my chest.

                “Gee,” she takes the glass, “Thanks. Always were a gentleman. Most of the time anyways.”

                I smile without humor, “Selina, you can’t keep going like this.”

                “I can do whatever the hell I want Bruce.”

                “Please, I’m asking you.”

                “To what?” she snaps, standing on tip toe so our eyes are even, “To let you be in your decision? To let you wallow in peace, like you did me?”

                “I did what I had to do.”

                “And I’m doing what I need to do.”

                She tries to step around me and I stop her with a hand, testing her skin with my fingers, daring to taste the air she’s breathing like a dying man. I could breathe her scent for days. I could taste her skin for more. Leaving her, doing what was best for us both, has destroyed something within us.

                But I can’t regret it. Not when her heart is still beating.

                “Don’t make this harder Bruce,” she whispers, eyes filling with unshed tears.

                “I’m sorry.”

                “You’ve said that. It makes nothing better.”

                I open my mouth to say something. Anything. Nothing comes out and Selina gives me her back.

                “Get out.”

                I leave her. It doesn’t matter that I took the drugs. She’ll find more if she wants to. I’ll never be able to fix what’s been done.

 

_“Master Bruce?”_

I rub gritted eyes and I blearily make out the commlink flashing on my nightstand. Scowling, I pick it up and tap it. “Yes, Alfred?”

                _“It’s midday.”_

Midnight for me. “And?”

                _“You have a visitor.”_

“Tell them I’m out of the mansion. Banging some redhead with big tits.”

                There’s a long pause and I can hear the agitation over the line. It’s on the tip of my tongue to apologize for being crude. But I don’t. It wouldn’t be in character nor do I have the patience for it.

                _“It’s Master Dick. He says it’s important.”_

I sigh, leaning back into the duvet, “Fine. Send him up.”

                _“Right away, Sir.”_

By the time Dick is walking into the master suite I’m sitting up and proud of the fact I bothered to.

                “You’re looking rough.”

                I lift a brow, ignoring the comment in favor of assessment. My oldest prodigy is at least looking healthy. His coloring is good. Eyes bright and clear. Weight good, though he could stand to gain a few pounds. “Why are you here Dick?”

                “I need a reason?”

                “Always. You know I’m busy.”

                “And surly as ever.”

                I snort, tossing backs the comforters to amble slowly to the windows. Alfred must have drawn open the drapes at some point because the sun burns painfully across the Persian rugs and it’s making my eyes hurt. I close them roughly then face Dick with a scowl. He smells of anxiety.

                “What’s wrong?”

                “I’d say that’s creepy, but it’s becoming less and less so. I’ve got a problem.”

                “We’ve established that. With what?”

                Dick sighs, pushing a hand through his black hair that he’s grown out enough to dust his collar. The look suits him. “Selina Kyle.”

                My gut clenches painfully. It’s been two weeks since we spoke. “And?”

                “She’s moved to Bludhaven. She’s started stealing again. High-end, big money, and is making enemies. She’s not even trying to be careful.”

                “She wants to be caught.”

                “If that’s her aim, she’s doing well. I’m doing my best to hold off the cops but I can’t do it much longer without blowing my cover.”

                “Then catch her.”

                Dick frowns, “Bruce…”

                “I don’t have time for this. If she’s running around getting herself into trouble like some teenage derelict that’s not my problem anymore. We’ve cut ties and washed hands. I can’t intervene any more and she knows it. I think she doesn’t want me to.”

                “She’ll go to Arkham.”

                “I know.”

                “She has enemies there. People who know about the two of you now.”

                “I know Dick!” I snarl, closing the gap between us so quickly it is unmistakably inhuman. Dick has no time to prepare and neither do I, the transformation is startling. From man to beast. My teeth draw out, the fangs sharp as knives, my hand is on his chin tugging it up and my mouth poised for the kill in a breath. Half a breath.

                Our eyes are locked, one menacing predator the other alarmed prey.

                I hiss and shove him away in the next. A feral sound rips from the back of my throat and I struggle to control the bloodlust that burns in me now.

                Dick stares at me, half-shock, half-intrigue, his eyes luminous. “It’s been a year and I’ve never seen you lose control.”

                “It’s been coming,” I inhale softly, exhale. Ignore the scent of Dick’s blood with effort. I’m too hungry. Sleep deprived. Emotional. I’ve pushed myself to this. I almost feasted on him like he was juicy steak.

                “When did you eat last?”

                I shrug, “A week.”

                “Bruce.”

                “I don’t need to hear it. I know it was stupid. I’ve not been myself.”

                “It seems you aren’t the only one.”

                “Save it for later,” I stalk to the armoire on the far wall and tear out sweats. We say nothing as I dress and continue in silence when I take the hidden passageway by the mantle to the Bat Cave. Dick stays close, his presence a steady companion. But we don’t speak until I’m gulping down bag after bag of O-negative from the fridge.

                “Still getting that from the blood bank?”

                Stretched painfully full, I lean back against the counter by the fridge and consider Dick for a moment. He’s grown more than I could have ever hoped in the last years. He’d make an excellent Batman, if he had any interest in stepping into my shoes when I’m done.

                “I’m fine Dick.”

                “Clearly.”

                “I know you came to check up on me too. I’m not entirely dense.”

                Dick laughs, tension breaking into little pieces between us, “Bruce, you haven’t invited me over in a year. I’m barged my way in. I keep waiting for you to get a handle on things so we could get back to be being us. But it’s not happening. You’re not fine.”

                I level him with a glare but don’t put enough heart into it. “I will be.”

                “Selina is messing with you. Again.”

                “It’s only fair. And I don’t want to talk about this with you.”

                “Why not? You aren’t talking about it with anyone else.”

                “Exactly. It’s private. I’ve enough going on without needlessly involving emotions which are better left buried.”

                “Is that how it is? It’s buried?”

                I lift a brow, “Is everything buried between you and Babs? Should we go there?”

                “We’re talking. Which is better than I can say for you and Selina.”

                “We talked. Recently. It didn’t go well.”

                “You mean you talked at her. You ordered her around and it didn’t go well. For the world’s greatest detective, you struggle immensely interpersonally.”

                I shake my head, already getting a headache, “Dick, case closed. If there’s anything else you came to do in the cave, feel free. Have Alfred scrounge you up a meal. He’s missed doing that. But don’t delve in where you aren’t welcome.”

                “Fine. I won’t. How’s Alfred been?”

                “Tired. He worries. Everyone worries.”

                “God forbid. People care about you.”

                “I’m indestructible now.”

                Dick nods, “And ya still have heart. That part hasn’t changed. You didn’t become a member of the undead and lose your humanity.”

                “Oh God. Can we just discuss a case? Any case. I need to work.”

                “I thought you were too tired.”

                “I’m awake now. Tell me something perplexing in Bludhaven.”

                Dick shrugs a shoulder, considering, “There’s word of scarecrow having switched playgrounds. I’ve come across several cases of possible fear toxin deaths.”

                “Deaths?”

                “Yes. Four cases. All young males, varying educational levels. No other connections other than the toxin.”

                “It doesn’t sound random.”

                He nods, crossing his legs at the ankles, “It’s what I was thinking. But it doesn’t jive with reports of scarecrow still in Gotham.”

                “No, it doesn’t.”

                “You going to look into it?”

                “Yes. I’ll send you anything I get.”

                “Do you wanna…see the bodies? Do your thing?”

                I laugh genuinely, shoulders dropping from their tense posture, “God no. They’d taste like licking a dumpster and undoubtedly transfer some of the toxin over to me.”

                “But would you get anything out of it? Anything more than what we know? I need a connection.”

                I think about it a moment then sigh, “I could drop by. Sniff around.”

                A wry smile breaks across Dick’s mouth.

                I shake my head, shooing him, “Now go pester Alfred. I’m busy.”

                “With what?”

                “Brooding.”

                It’s not entirely a lie. I’m intrigued about the possible scarecrow killings and impossibly drawn to check in with Selina, even if I’m certain it will cost me. This time, I don’t intend to speak with her. Only be assured of her whereabouts and possible foil any more of her plans to become incarcerated.

                I take the seat at the helm of the bat computer and crack my knuckles. No better way to start the day than with a mystery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Selina**

                Is it a sin to watch him like this?

                He’s taking down a coffee mug from the cabinet, one hand already around a pot of coffee despite the late hour. A creature of habit, he’s wearing a black thermal over a pair of black sweats. Within an hour, he’ll go on patrol and trade the comfortable cotton for Kevlar. He’ll lose the boyish good looks in exchange for rough and inflexible. It’s fortunate for both of us that I haven’t run into him as the Bat as of late.

                I suck in a breath of slightly bitter night air and wonder how he can look so unchanged and yet so very different over the last sixteen months. I clench my jaw against the memories that want to come from our final break-up and my empty stomach sinks. I shouldn’t want him like this anymore. I shouldn’t be here, sneaking around his windows for an extra glimpse at what his life is like without me. Particularly when it’s plain to see.

                The answer to that is quite simply heartbreaking. His life is fine.

                Average but not dismally dark--like mine. Though he’s lost weight and looks far too pale, he isn’t moping around. Or, using drugs to cope with the loss and suffering so apparently like myself.

                I’m pathetic.

                I gave my whole heart to a man who could never give it back to me and now I’m pining after him; on the verge of begging him to give us a second chance. Why? He’s moved on. I should too.

                Grief wells up within me and I struggle to stifle it, more desperate than ever to simply let him go. But the jaws of it open wide and try to swallow me whole.

                The brief sound of shotgun being cocked makes my ears burn. My eyes slip closed and I swivel impatiently to face the only man who could manage to wield a gun at his age without looking foolish.

To his credit, Alfred doesn’t jerk with surprise when he realizes who he has caught creeping around the property. No, he simply stares a moment, his eyes blank. A worse outcome because he doesn’t recognize me at all. I don’t either.

                “Miss Kyle, you shouldn’t be here.”

                “I know, Alfred. It was a mistake.”

                I stand, wincing when my body groans. I’ve not shot up in a solid week. And it’s been torture. Every blasted second of it. But I’m determined to stop, even if it kills me.

                “Do you need assistance in getting home?”

                “No. I—” I stare at him, wonder if he’ll tell Bruce, then decide to risk it, “Could you not tell him about this?”

                A white brow rises, “That would be deceptive. And unwise. He likely already knows.”

                That much is true. Bruce is uncanny in his ability to detect and see what others cannot. It is unlikely he missed this visit tonight. Or the three before it. I was feeling weak and though I sense a softness in Alfred, I also know it isn’t likely that I’ll gain any friends by trying to use it to my advantage. The old me wouldn’t have thought a moment about it.

                “Alfred, could you do me a favor?”

                “That depends, Miss Kyle.”

                “Of course, it would. It’s nothing big. Just—could you tell Bruce that I’m working on understanding. That I—I’ve decided to move back to Gotham and start over. I want a fresh beginning.”

                “I can do that, yes.”

                “Thank you.”

                “Miss Kyle, you are looking well.”

                “Am I?” I ask, tears suddenly burning my eyes. It would be improper to hug the old man, as I might have not that long ago. But I want to. “I feel awful.”

                He laughs, “Give it time, my dear and it will get better.”

                “I hope so.”

                Alfred gives me one of his approving nods, then turns and slips back into the inky darkness in the same direction from whence he came. His trust is in me is comforting. It’s my cue to leave as well, something that was unspoken but expected nonetheless. Even so, I stare back into the window and see Bruce as I’d left him. Only now, he sits at the dining table, his hands loose, a cup of coffee beside a newspaper he has folded open to the police reports. His brows are low and though I know he is focused on the paper, it’s as though he is working not to look at me. Part of me wishes he would, the other, is very much glad that he does not.

               

                It’s been exactly eighty-three days since I stared like a lost orphan into Bruce Wayne’s mansion windows for a peek at my lover. Those days have given me perspective, purpose, and distance.

                I’ve turned over a new leaf, as it were.

                Smiling, lips painted in a dark mauve, I swivel in my new desk chair and sigh with foreign pleasure. It’s been far too long since I wore a suit that was cut with the idea of a woman’s figure in mind. I like the way the eggplant looks on my much healthier toned skin. My hair is glossy again and though I’ve a few more pounds to gain before I can say I am at fighting weight, the magnetism and sexual appeal I once enjoyed, has returned. Only just this morning I received a complimentary whistle from a passing cabbie. I blew him a kiss in thanks.

                However, the scars, jagged and crisscrossed, remain deep beneath the polish. Most of which are from my own self-destructive tendencies. I’m working on getting through them. Even considered seeing a shrink to help the process along.

                _“Miss Kyle?”_

I jerk in the leather chair, surprised by the feminine sound over the intercom I’m not used to yet. “Yes?”

                _“You have a call on line one.”_

“Thank you, I’ll take it in here.”

                A call…the first of many hopefully. Inhaling softly, I lift the receiver from the cradle and press it to my ear. The sound of my gold earrings clink gently against the plastic and I feel ridiculous when I realize how sweaty my palms are. “Selina Kyle speaking.”

                _“Founder and CEO of Women First Initiative.”_

                “Bruce,” his name rushes out on an exhale and I have to force myself to sound calm. Professionalism is the name of the game now. I can’t backslide so easily with such a little test.

                _“Selina, I’ve wanted to call sooner. To congratulate you.”_

                “No, you haven’t.”

                The remark is out of my mouth before I can think better of it but his silence only confirms what I already knew. He’s been keeping his distance. As have I.

                I rub at my temples. “Never mind. Let’s put the past behind us. Today is about celebrating. Would you like to have lunch with me? Strictly business. I could use a new benefactor with deep pockets who wants to help the women of Gotham.”

                There is a soft chuckle over the line and my eyes slip closed to savor it.

                _“Name the time and place and I’ll be there.”_

                “Marcos. 11:30. Bring your checkbook Bruce. And an open mind. I’ve got some ideas.”

                We meet two hours later in Marcos with little fanfare, though my heart would disagree. It pounds incessantly in my ears, a reminder of just who I’m sitting across from. He isn’t a business colleague, though I’d like him to believe that now. He couldn’t even be called a friend anymore.

                The name lover still clings to his visage in my memory and holds firmly.

                My heart excitedly agrees.

                Licking my lips, I sit in the booth across from Bruce and order a water with lemon. My nerves demand that I stay away from anything alcoholic, on the off chance that I feel any urges to escalate my drug of choice to something a bit stronger. I haven’t touched a needle, snuff box, or drink in ninety days.

                “You look stunning Selina.”

                I smile, letting a tease into my voice, “And you as well, though still pale Bruce. Do you ever get any sun?”

                “Not particularly. My dermatologist worries. How’s business?”

                “Just starting,” I sip noncommittally on my water, “It was a bit of whirlwind, but something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time. I think it might be my first _legal_ venture. Ever.”

                “Good for you. It suits you.”

                “Thank you. How’s business on your end?”

                We both know I’m asking about more than his actual business enterprises. He shifts in his seat, “Good. I’ve been working a few different clients at once. It keeps me busy. More than I like some days, but I can’t complain.”

                “Wonderful.”

                We stare at one another and my heart skips a beat when he doesn’t look away.

                “What sort of business did you want to discuss with me Selina?”

                “Oh yes,” I clear my throat, “I want money of course. A lot of it. I spent a great deal of my capital just starting the company. And once we finish the build on the women’s half-way house, we’ll need more of it just to keep it running. Feeding up to fifty women at a time will take funds.”

                “Yes. I’ll give them to you.”

                “You will?”

                “Of course. I like your project. It’s a noble cause.”

                “It’s always been close to my heart, believe it or not.”

                “It’s not hard to believe,” when I lift a brow at him he shakes his head, “I’ve always known you have a soft heart Selina. And beneath the armor that you wear, there is a good woman who wants to help people. The fact that you want to give women coming out of prison a second chance is admirable. And as you know, I’m fairly supportive of reformation initiatives when it comes to criminals.”

                I smile. “Yes, I remember.”

                “Then it’s settled. What will you have?”

                Already moving on to the menu, I struggle to keep up and pick something at random. After the waitress takes out orders, I fold my manicured hands on the table and begin working at keeping up light conversation.

                “Selina, how are you really?”

                I blink at him, “As good as I look, Bruce.”

                He assesses me, shrewd gaze measuring without mercy, “You could use a little more sleep.”

                “So, could we all. I thought we were going to keep this business.”

                “We were. We are. I’m just checking in.”

                “Really?” I ask primly, forced to control a wave of temper, “You called me, Bruce. You agreed to a business lunch. Asking over my well-fare and commenting on my lack of sleep is personal.”

                “You haven’t been back to my house to watch me in months. What changed?”

                I open my mouth but no words come out.

                It shouldn’t surprise that he knew all along, but it leaves me speechless. Worse, it leaves me feeling vulnerable.

                Bruce reaches for my hand lying limp on the table and I stare as he takes it within his grasp. His skin is cool at best and calloused. Scarred knuckles, clean cut nails. Everything so familiar and yet so very different. He is a different man. But I am a different woman.

                “I changed,” I whisper, taking my hand back. Lifting my chin, I level him with a chilly expression, “I became a different person for you. When you left me, I changed again and nearly killed myself. But this, this was for me. Only me.”

                “I’m glad Selina.”

                I nod, chest aching, “I’m sure you are. I’m not your problem any longer. There’s no need to worry that I’ll be back at your windows any time soon.”

                “I didn’t worry. It was comforting to know you were there.”

                I jerk, though I am deeply touched by him admitting such, “How very sweet.”

                “Selina, don’t. Please. I--,” for the first time since that first dreadful night, he looks pained, “I wish things could have been different.”

                “They could have.”

                “I don’t think so.”

                “But you don’t know, do you? Because you aren’t God. Contrary to your obvious complex.”

                Bruce’s mouth twitches and he straightens, “It’s been a year and half. But it’s like it was yesterday, isn’t it?”

                “Yes.”

                “Would it matter if I said that I did what I thought was necessary, at the time.”

                I blink at him, “And now?”

                “Now,” Bruce swallows a mouthful of the red wine he’d ordered, “I don’t know. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care about you.”

                “Good for you. I never could. Pretend that is.”

                The sting makes a dead hit and Bruce nods, “I deserve that.”

                “I’ve never been good at playing nice after a break up either. What are we doing here Bruce?”

                “Eating lunch. Talking business. Dallying over what our next step might be, if there is one.”

                Though I’m doing my best to appear unaffected and nonchalant, I couldn’t be further from it. It’s true, that only a couple of months ago, I’d have given anything to leap into his arms and take back the months of heartache. To kiss him until we forgot who we were or even what we were. But that was before, and this is now.

                I did all this for me. Not for him. And that changes things.

                “Let’s discuss one of the firs initiatives I’d like to implement at the half-way house.”

                Bruce watches me a moment then shrugs, “I’m all ears, Selina.”

                “Now, don’t laugh, but I’d like to visit a local shelter and adopt a cat for every woman that enters the house. As you know, my project highlights using modern therapies and strong accountability to help reform women newly released from prison who are on probation and parole. I’ve done the research and ask a lot of questions. I feel this is a good opportunity to help save a few furry friends at the same time as offer the women a chance to have something to be responsible for, while still getting something rewarding in return.”

                “It sounds interesting.”

                “It is,” I agree, happy Bruce can see my reasoning. I’ve always been a die hard for animals, particularly those of the feline variety. Choosing to marry my love of cats with my desire to help female ex-criminals felt like the perfect balance. “Research shows that when prisoners were given a cat to care for, they were more peaceable, more responsible, and overall happier. They wanted to do more with their lives so they could keep caring for their furry friend.”

                “It sounds like a good plan.”

                I shrug a shoulder, “Do you really care where the money goes, or is this merely because we’ve slept together and you feel obligated?”

                Bruce opens his mouth to answer and I wave a hand at him, “Never mind. I don’t want to know. As long as I get the money without too much oversight. I don’t want to be bossed around when it comes to this.”

                “And I wouldn’t want to do any bossing. I’ve already got a company of my own to run. How about we meet again in a week and you draw up some numbers? I can send them to my accountant and we can get the ball rolling.”

                “That would be wonderful.”

                And it would be. I can already feel the heady rush of victory flooding through me and though I know I’m treading on careful ground, I take Bruce’s hands and kiss both of them. He smiles, only the flickering of a shadow still in his gaze.

                “I’ll have Alfred phone you to set up the dinner.”

                “Dinner?” I ask abruptly, dropping his hands, “Bruce, we can’t just have dinner now. That isn’t how this is going to work.”

                “I wasn’t planning on taking you to bed the minute I got you into my house Selina. I just want to have a meal with you. We’ve spent the better part of the last two years a part. And before you say it was my choice, I already know that. I just want the chance to get to know one another again. We’ve changed. Things have changed.”

                My eyes narrow, “What has changed from when you told me it was over between us?”

                He inhales softly, eyes deepening to a dark slate. Nearly all the blue has left his irises. “Me. I’ve changed.”

                “Touche.”

                He shakes his head, “It wasn’t meant as an insult. It’s simply true. We’re different people. Eighteen months is a long time. I’ve got a better handle on myself now.”

                “Meaning?”

                “Let’s take things slow. Get to know each other.”

                I laugh, only a little acerbically because it feels more natural than laughing nervously. “I know everything about you. Down to which underwear you prefer and how you like the tooth paste rolled.”

                “Things change, Selina.”

                “Yes, they do. Alfred can call my secretary to set something up. But I’m not guaranteeing that I’ll be coming over for dinner. I need a few days to make up my mind.”

                “That’s fair.”

                “Yes,” I level him with a stare, “It is. This was lovely. Thanks for lunch,” I stand knowing he would insist on paying for the check regardless and smile. He could stop women in their tracks with those eyes and that wicked grin. But he’s only ever looked at me with that brooding look. No other woman has made him do that. Only me.

                I blow him a kiss with forced ease and slip out of the restaurant into the glint of too bright sunlight. I’ve got some thinking to do. And some planning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Bruce**  

                “Is everything ready Alfred?”

                “Yes, master Bruce. Everything is set. The dinner you selected is on simmer and I’ve taken the liberty of lighting the candles.”

                “Too much?” I ask, voice hollow as I turn and lift a brow. I’ve chosen a pair of black slacks and muted red button down.

                “Not a bit.”

                “Good.”

                “Master Bruce, if you have everything you need, I’ll stow away in my chambers until you have need of me.”

                I smirk, “Afraid you’ll miss a rerun of Matlock?”

                Alfred smiles, crinkles pressing deeply, “My dear boy, I never miss anything with that DVR contraption you set up. I’m going to settle down with a cup of tea and refresh my memory on the last episode.”

                Without fail, Alfred finishes every evening with a cup of tea, a favorite television show and a quick perusal of the day’s paper. He never reads it in the morning. Only just before bed each night as if to help himself catalogue the events of the day in order with that of the outside world. I have fond memories of sitting on the sofa in my mother’s parlor with Alfred and his tea looking over the paper. He always wore his glasses perched on the end of his nose, huffing at this or that as he read.

                I would sit beside him and sometimes fall asleep to the sound of crisp newspaper turning in old, work worn hands. The sound of a fire crackling and the smell of tobacco leaf with earl gray tea warm in my nose.

                The doorbell rings through the house in a delighted familiar chime and rushes along Alfred’s departure. He smiles wickedly at me, gives my shoulder a squeeze, then escapes down the hall to disappear. I head for the main door and find the walk not nearly long enough.

                When I open the door and see Selina framed in the doorway as if she just stepped off a catwalk, I’m forced to keep my mouth from falling open.

                She chose a fitted floor-length black dress, low-cut with a split that runs up damn near to mid-thigh. The affect makes her legs appear acres long and the color of fresh cream. Her hair, she left loose and curled and I ache at once to fist both hands in it to see if memory serves as well as reality. I doubt it does.

                Evergreen eyes flutter over me in much the same assessing manner, but remain cool and unreadable. It’s been too long since we could reach others thoughts by simply a look. Now, we’re strangers with enough history to fill books.

                “Hello Selina.”

                “Hello Bruce,” she leans in to kiss my cheek and the smell of Chanel lingers, “The house hasn’t changed much. Though I see you’ve added another fountain to the garden. It looks lovely.”

                “Yes. Alfred’s idea.”

                “I’ll bet.”

                We stare at one another a moment more before I remember myself and offer an arm, “I have some wine breathing in the kitchen. Dinner is almost done.”

                “Mmmm. I can smell it from here. I never could deny your cooking. Or Alfred’s. Which of you do I have the pleasure of thanking tonight?”

                I smile sheepishly, steering her into the kitchen where sauce and chicken is simmering. “Alfred did the legwork. I’ve had a full schedule.”

                “It was a long day for me too.”

                I look over a shoulder at her, “It doesn’t show. You look stunning.”

                “Thank you. I just picked this dress out last weekend and had to have it.”

                I could easily see it. The Selina I knew could never say no to anything pretty. She was too enamored with it, too overjoyed with the things that sparkled. Swallowing stiffly, I filled two wine glasses and offer her one.

                “I’m really happy for you Selina.”

                She lifts a brow, “And I’m happy for you. It seems life has moved on comfortably for us both finally.”

                I don’t have anything to say to that. I’m under no illusion that this will be an easy task. Nor am I even certain of how or what I intend to accomplish. When I’d called Selina to have lunch, my sole intention had been to check up on her. I’d been reading about her success from afar, wondering, worrying. Doing my damndest not to overstep our silent pact to leave one another alone. I pact that _I_ put into place.

                But then she’d sat across from me looking like a polished mauve rose and I’d wanted to tear that tidy suit off her frame with my teeth. I’d wanted to crush her to my chest and remind us both why the hell we’d worked so well for so long. I’d wanted to forget everything I’d become. Everything I am.

                Even now, I can smell her beneath the delicate scents of woman and gloss. The part of myself that still claims to be a man can deny it, but the rest, is very much aware of her as prey.

                Her blood would be sweeter than the wine in my hand and would taste like forbidden fruit. My gums start to ache and I clear my throat, “How’s Isis?”

                She looks up from her own thoughts, “She’s well. Getting old. She can’t bring me gifts of dead rodents anymore but still enjoys a quick spurt of hunting around the apartment.”

                I smile, “I always did have a soft spot for that cat.”

                “You’ll have to come by and give her visit then. She would enjoy it.”

                “I’d like that.”

                We don’t speak again until I’ve plated the dinner and we agree to take our supper out on the veranda. The air is warm and the smell of blooming magnolias is charming. The sun, still clinging to the horizon line looks like a fat red-orange egg and we sit sharing the final minutes of a sunset before tucking in to our meal.

                I eat because it’s expected. And even though the taste of food is something that often makes my gag reflex near, I stomach half of my portion without the slightest grimace. Selina merely lifts a brow when I sit back in my chair and sip on wine instead.

                “It’s still magical out here. I never loved a place more.”

                “No,” I remember, “I planted ivy on the western wall. It’s been thriving like you said it would.”

                “So, you do listen to a few things I say.”

                “Sometimes,” I lean on the table, tempted to curl some of her hair around a finger, “My stubbornness is part of my charm.”

                “As I remember your charm is sorely lacking when not playing for a crowd.”

                I nod, “I’m not the easiest man to get along with.”

                “No. But you were the only man I wanted to try with,” she sighs and my heart clenches in my chest, “Oh Bruce, who are we kidding? There’s too much history here. Too much has happened between us.”

                “A lot has happened, yes.”

                Her eyes move to slits of emerald, “There you go. That’s more familiar. Dodging carefully, using diplomacy when cornered. I’d forgotten how irritating it was.”

                I roll a shoulder, “And I hadn’t forgotten about your temper.

                “Well good, at least one of us can remember the way things really were.”

                “Do you remember?”

                Her eyes fall to the table and she spears a Brussel sprout with her fork, “How could I not? We’ve been off and on for years. More on than off when you think about it. Fire and ice. We made an interesting combination and somehow,” she tosses her chin, as if to laugh but doesn’t manage it. Her eyes are filled with pain, “We worked. Why now Bruce?”

                I don’t answer for a moment as I struggle to collect my thoughts. I would give her a truthful answer if I could, but what answer would suffice? What answer would stem the pain I can see so clearly in her gaze? I did that to her. I hurt her. I hurt myself.

                But I would do it again. What woman wants to hear that?

                “Bruce?”

                Selina has moved without my notice and now sits perched on the edge of her seat, one hand daring to grasp my fist on the table. I stare at the contact, at the feel of warmth on chill and I swallow thickly.

                “I’m sorry. I don’t have the answers you want Selina.”

                She watches me a moment, expression guarded, “Then what do you have, Bruce? Because I came. I’m here. Against my better judgement, against all my instincts, I came.”

                “Why did you?”

                She laughs now, part-frustration, part-fluster, “Would you? Wouldn’t you come running if I called? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

                “If I could, you know I would Selina. We’ve been dancing in this game for nearly a decade. You know me.”

                Her gaze sweeps back to mine, “I don’t anymore, darling. You made sure of that.”

                I hide the flinch but my guess is that Selina still doesn’t miss it.

                “I want to change that.”

                She lifts a brow, arrogance masking the unease, “And how do you suppose we do that?”

                “We do this,” I answer carefully, pulling my fist out from beneath her hand to lace our fingers. The contact is not nearly enough. And yet, it’s far too much. My control is tenuous at best. What would happen if it snaps and I found myself fang deep in Selina’s neck?

                The thought is enough to control the needy pulse in the hollow of my stomach.

                “We learn again. And when the time is right, I let you see all of me again.”

                Her eyes measure me thoughtfully, “Will you tell me what happened to you Bruce? What really happened? Not the watered-down version you’ve told everyone else. And certainly not the lies you gave me when you left.”

                I’ve already thought about this. A great deal. And see no other way. “Yes.”           

                “When?”

                “I don’t know. I need to be sure.”

                “Of what exactly?”

                I trace the veins that stand out on the back of her hand with my thumb. “Of myself. Of you. I can’t be sure this is going to work out for either one of us. It could be dangerous.”

                “For me?”

                I nod, struggling not to tell her everything from the start. She can’t know that everything I did, was for her. It wouldn’t be something she’d believe at this point. And she’d be partially right. Much of what I did was for myself. I went through a dark time of grief and hatred. For myself. I became something I despised and still frequently struggle hating. I can’t even begin to share with Selina the weight that presses down upon my shoulders even now. How the sound of her pulse ringing in my ears makes me feel fiercely protective in one moment and then ravenous the next.

                Even I don’t fully understand the complexities of being undead. Or the war it wreaks on my conscience.

                 “You’ve drifted again.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Selina**

 

                I watch him come back to himself with difficulty and I struggle not to smooth the wrinkle in his brow when he looks up at me waiting.

                He’s always been a man that drifted in conversation. A mind that works quickly and with details often does when it always in motion. But now, sitting a mere foot away from him, our hands still linked, I can feel the gap between us like a yawning schism and I regret it immensely. I would prefer that it not have existed in the first place.

                “You’ll give yourself wrinkles prematurely frowning like that,” I try for lightness but fail when he grips my hand tighter, “You’ve always been too serious Bruce.”

                “Have I?”

                “You know it. It’s part of your charm I suppose. The brooding elegant man who sits in the quiet with his books and his pain. It’s some of why I fell in love with you.”

                His mouth tips, “Some?”

                “You know the other parts. I made those abundantly clear.”

                He laughs now and I see a bit of tension ease in his shoulders. He’s still too pale and his cheeks are more hollow than my last memory of him, but at least when he’s laughing, it’s almost like before.

                We talk of other mundane things, steering away from the serious in favor of light politics—something we’ve always agreed on—city construction plans, and of course, we discuss my budding company. Bruce seems genuinely interested in my plans and ideas. He listens.

                But he’s always listened well. He’s always cared. That wasn’t his weakness.

                I signal the dinner’s end by noting the time, just barely ten O’ clock and struggle not to fight with myself when I see disappointment flutter over his face. It’s better for us a both if we take this slow. Bruce himself doesn’t even appear sure of what he wants from us. Another chance, sure. But what does that look like? And why not be honest straight out of the gate?

                When he walks me to the front door and we linger, I feel a strong wave of nostalgia. God, it feels like yesterday I kissed him goodbye and the world stopped turning.

                “I had a good time,” I say gently, adjusting my purse strap on my shoulder.

                He smiles back at me, “I did too.”

                When it appears he isn’t going to kiss me goodbye, I very nearly leave without pressing the matter. Why should I? He’s clearly in control of exactly how much he wants of me and when. He has me right under his thumb, pushing and pulling my strings to make me dance.

                I inhale a breath of Alfred’s mint leaves in the bowl by the keys then lift my chin. He’s not the only one that gets to control what happens here.

                I didn’t come back to him because he wanted me to. I’m here because I wanted to be. Without thought, without permission of any kind, I close the gap between us and jerk Bruce’s mouth right down to mine.

                And I devour him.

                I can’t call it any other term. Like being shot from a cannon after being parched and desolate, I plunge into fresh water and greedily take my fill. Startled by the onslaught, Bruce has no choice but to take what I offer and he weakly grips my hands where they’ve imbedded into his shirt. Our lips dance in a blistering kiss that makes me ache to my toes and even still, I can’t get enough of him. I can’t taste enough of his mouth.

                Desperation. I feel it’s hard claws shred down my middle and I stifle the urge to cry out from it as Bruce finally manages to separate us and we both stare at each other, raggedly gasping for air.

                If he’d let me, I would have had him on the foyer floor. I would have taken him anywhere he asked me to. There is a pitiful edge of humiliation to have that knowledge.

                Tears fill my eyes and I have to swallow several times before I can speak again.

                “I should be sorry for that. But I’m not. I won’t be.”

                Bruce’s eyes are crystalline blue and sharp as tacks when they find me, “I wouldn’t want you to be. But maybe warn me next time that’s what you’ve got in mind.”

                I lift a brow, “So you can run?”

                “No. So I can protect you. There are things I haven’t told you that you need to know before we head down that road.”

                I frown, looking from the crown of his head where his hair is mussed to the toes of his shoes, “You look as wholesome as ever.”

                “I’m different Selina. Trust me.”

                “So am I.”

                “I know. And I’m sorry. Just—” he runs both hands through his hair, laughing a little, “God you surprised me.”

                I shake my head, “I shouldn’t have. I never waited for the boy to go first. It just isn’t in me.”

                “No,” he casts me a sidelong look, “I suppose you never have.”

                “I should go.”

                He nods, “Yes.”

                We both don’t say that the threat of what nearly happened is still very near. The sensation of electricity still burns the air and feels like a dull ache. My emotions cling thick in my throat and right where I keep the place inside of me locked and barricaded with Bruce’s name, a leak has sprung. I can tell it’s going to be a crying jag sort of night with a bottle of wine and few aspirin to stave off the headache.

                “Will you see me again?”

                There is a part of me that wants to say no. But we’d both know that I was lying. I’ve already let him back in. I let him in the moment I heard his voice on the phone at my office. I’d been fooling myself in thinking I had any control whatsoever. I don’t. I never will.

                “Yes. Dinner at my place next time. I’ll cook.”

                Bruce smiles, but it’s shadowed with memories, “When?”

                “Sunday afternoon? Is that too soon?”

                “No. I’ll be there. Should I bring dessert?”

                I do laugh now, shaking my head at him. “Honey, you are the dessert.”

 

                We’ve been playing our little game for weeks. Dinner at his house. Dinner at mine. Lunch at the zoo. Ice cream in the park. Movies downtown.

                I stare forlornly out the windows in my apartment and stuff another piece of chocolate into my mouth. We haven’t kissed again. Though I understand why. It would undoubtedly lead to something more physical between us and after my last attempt, I’d felt the push back from Bruce strongly. He’d have come along for the ride, but he’d have regretted it. And felt manipulated.

                 And here I am spending my Saturday afternoon moping around because Bruce is out of town for the weekend. I could be catching up on work. Work which I have plenty of. Or I could be studying those new pilates moves I gloated to Bruce I knew. I lied. Then felt guilty enough to study up.

                I could watch a movie to the sound of the peaceful rain.

                I blink at the windows and my scowl deepens. I hadn’t realized it was raining. There goes my plans for an evening walk with Isis. I’ll have to stay in all day and mope some more.

                The phone rings and I huff angrily, then let it go to answering machine.

                _Selina, hi. It’s Bruce. I hoped I might catch you—_

“Bruce?” I press the phone to my ear.

                “Hi, are you alright?”

                “Yes, why?”

                “You sound winded. Catch you at a bad time?”

                “No. I was—I was working on those pilates moves I told you about,” I should be ashamed of myself. Some habits never die. “How’s Chicago?”

                “Actually, that’s why I’ve called. I had some meetings cancel so I’ll be home early and I thought we might take in a Knights game tomorrow.”

                Football? I purse my lips, decide within half a second that I can put up with anything to see Bruce. “Sure. I could do that.”

                “I have box seats, so I figured you might like it. I could make it up to you by taking you for gelato afterwards?”

                I laugh lightly, propping my chin in my free hand, “Make it up to me by coming home today and watching movies in bed all day.”

                The little hitch of breath on the line means I’ve gotten him again. I like that I’m not the only one suffering.

                “Soon. I think—I want to talk to you soon. About everything.”

                “Why not tomorrow?”

                He makes a humming sound that I know means he’s answering someone else in the background. “Not tomorrow. I want to do this right. I want to have more time to figure out how to tell you.”

                “How badly do you think I’m going to react to this little secret of yours Bruce?”

                “I’m not taking any chances.”

                “Fine.”

                At an impasse. Again. We’ve hit this landmark over and over. It shouldn’t bother me just as much as it did a month ago, but it does. It chafes.

                “Still see you tomorrow?”

                I contemplate being vindictive and cancelling, then roll my eyes at my old tricks. The old me would do it in a heartbeat. The new me, simply doesn’t have the time or the inclination to pretend disinterest. I’ll take what he’ll give me. And I’m learning to be alright with that, one bleeding day at a time.

                “Yes. I miss you.”

                Is it too soon for that sort of a statement?

                He waits a breath, “I miss you too Selina. It feels good to say that.”

                “See you tomorrow.”

                He hangs up and I go back to staring out the windows. I sigh in defeat after a handful of minutes then trudge dutifully into my bedroom to pick out an outfit that will make Bruce’s eyes bug out of his head when he comes to pick me up. A girl has to use her assets, doesn’t she?


	5. Chapter 5

**Bruce**

                She’s making me pay a bit.

                I know it, she knows it. That doesn’t mean I don’t succumb to the urge to feel irritated with her when I come to pick her up for the game and she’s wearing a plunging neckline black t-shirt, no bra and a pair of painted-on tight skinny jeans. The fact that she painted her toe nails to match her lipstick, in fire engine red, shouldn’t have surprised me a bit.

                We walk hand in hand to my private box at the game with almost every man in attendance gaping at her. It’s an exercise in control not to pummel every single one.

                Selina’s a beautiful woman. Her allure with any man in a block radius of her, never bothered me before. But it does now. Is it because I haven’t had my own hands on her the ways the others want to? Or is it because no matter how I slice it, I’m playing with fire and could have her not only under me in a handful of seconds, but drained dry?

                A headache has started to bloom in my temples and I pinch the bridge of my nose when we sit silently in front of the panoramic windows. The field looks like a giant green city beneath a dome of glassy blue. Not a cloud in the sky. The sunlight is bright enough I’m forced to don my sunglasses.

                Selina shucks her flip-flops and tucks both legs under her. “If memory serves, you used to be more of a beach bum. From the looks of you, you hide from the sun now.”

                “My dermatologist warned me off tanning.”

                She lifts an elegant brow, “And you listened?”

                “I did. Want a hotdog?”

                “I’d love one. I’m famished. You?”

                “Sure,” I answer automatically, though I’ll have to choke it down with some effort. It’s of particular revulsion to consume meat products since the change. I can’t be certain why either. But I suppose it might have something to do with the lack of blood in the meat. Is it too close to what my body really wants so it especially fights it? A curiosity only further research will help to illuminate.

                Smiling, I walk to the back of the box where hotdogs, condiments, and sodas have already been gathered in preparation for our coming. Taking the prepped boxes with chips, I load up the hotdogs and rejoin Selina. Just the scent of the meat has my gag reflex rearing its ugly head.

                “Are you alright?” Selina asks casually, accepting her drink and box of food.

                “Yes.”

                “Somehow, you look even more pale than usual. Are you feeling well?”

                “Yes,” I answer again, beads of sweat collecting on my forehead as I take a hefty bite of hotdog and smile lips closed.

                She shrugs a shoulder and I work each bite down like my life depends on it. Finished, I sit uncomfortably in the cushioned chair as my stomach rebels and wonder how long I might keep it down before having to excuse myself. More and more, I’m not able to eat more than a few bites of typically human food.

                “Bruce?”

                “Hmmm?” I ask distractedly, eyes roving the field as the receiver makes a line drive towards the end zone.

                “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re sitting funny.”

                I feel my thinning patience dwindle and smile through the cramping sensation in my lower gut. “Sure. Just distracted. It’s a good game, isn’t it?”

                “I suppose. You know I’m not much a sports fan.”

                “Right.”

                Silence falls back between us. Relieved, I focus on the game for the next thirty minutes, then wait until I can feel the bile coming up the back of my throat to excuse myself. Selina hardly notices my departure and seems happy enough ensconced in her plush recliner. Outside the box, I b-line for the bathrooms and make it just in time to empty my stomach violently. I heave long enough to wait out all the other occupants in the bathroom. Spent and exhausted, I step outside of the bathroom stall and stop dead in my tracks.

                Selina stands with one shoulder leaning into the white cinderblock walls, her green eyes narrowed and brows furrowed.           

                “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

                I blink at her, swipe feebly at my sweat slicked face then settle for a half-truth. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

                “So, suffer in silence? What kind of a martyr sits through a football game ready to puke?”

                “A stupid one.”

                She nods, moving to hook her arm with mine. “Let’s get you home. And in bed.”

                I chuckle, struggling to keep the mood light, “And I thought it would be so much harder than that.”

                “You and I both know I’m not the one putting on the brakes in that department.”

                So much for lightness.

                Somber now, we leave the stadium with little more than a parting glance. Selina is quietly shredding me with her gaze and though I feel a thousand times better, I can’t say that my ‘illness’ was temporary. At least not at the moment. I don’t see it going well to explain that I got sick because I ate the wrong foods. Human foods that is.

                Scowling, I drive the Bens into Wayne manor driveway and ignore Selina’s anger at my side. It’s only when she’s toted me back to my bedroom that she finally turns to face me. But she doesn’t speak, at least not yet, she’s still too busy thinking out how she’s going to chastise me.

                “Does this have something to do with what you want to tell me?”

                I instinctively reach for her, tracing a hand down her cheek, “I don’t want to lie to you.”

                “Then that’s a yes. Are you sick?”

                I stare at her, fighting the urge to explain better then shake my head, “No.”

                “You don’t eat well anymore.”

                My eyes find hers again and hold.

                “And you look so pale. Your color is poor. And your eyes, they have such dark shadows under them,” she’s moved across the little space that was separating us and her hands cradle my face. Those emerald eyes are searching mine, looking for answers I’m not ready to give, “You would tell me if you were really sick, wouldn’t you?”

                “I would.”

                She bites her lip, “You wouldn’t lie to me. You wouldn’t hurt me like that. But you are keeping something terrible from me. Aren’t you?”

                I shudder when her thumbs brush my cheek bones, “I--,”

                “What is it Bruce?”

                “It’s not something I can just say. I’ve been keeping it to myself for so long. Trying to make things work on my own. Selina, you can’t imagine--.”

                “Help me imagine,” her hands grip me harder and I ache to draw her into me and feel her skin on mine. To take in her smell until I’m drunk with it.

                Just imagining it makes my gums ache and the hunger swell painfully. My hands start to tremble at my sides and I clench them into fists. Selina’s eyes drop to them and she frowns, worry lining her forehead.

                “It hurts you.”

                My teeth are elongating and pressing into my tongue. Fear twists hard in my stomach at being found out like this. The instinct to draw blood is growing stronger by the second. She needs to leave.

                “I need--,” I draw in a breath, blinking as my vision starts to haze, “I need you to go. I’m not feeling well after all.”

                “Bruce,” Selina tries to hold me to her and I push back, stepping away until my bed separates us and I can’t hear her pulse slamming in the shells of my ears.

                “You need to go.”

                “Let me help you.”

                I shake my head, “You can help me by going. It’s the only way. I’m sorry.”

                “Will you call me? Tell me if you’re alright?”

                “I’ll call you.”

                But I don’t say anything more. What is there to say? I’m playing with fire. This side of me, this demonic thing, controls me as a slave to its master and I’ve been taunting it by putting Selina in the cross hairs. She could have lost her life today because of my foolishness.

                I watch her leave, closing my bedroom door with a soft click then bolt for the minifridge in my bathroom. Shaking like I leaf, I tear into it, breaking the door right off it’s hinges as I paw through the blood supply and start tearing off the tops to toss them back. I drink until I ache and then I drink some more.

                Breathing like I’ve run miles, I sit back into the bathroom wall and stare at the blood smears and the havoc from my feeding. Disgust swells within me and I want to wretch. I want to scream.

                How could I have ever thought this work with Selina?


	6. Chapter 6

**Selina**

 

                He’s been ignoring my calls.

                When Bruce Wayne doesn’t want to speak with you, he doesn’t keep it a secret. He makes it abundantly clear. And I’ve been getting the cold shoulder for a solid week. A torturously slow and agonizing week.

                “Selina, darling, what are you scowling like that for? You’ll wrinkle prematurely.”

                I snort, running my fingertip along the rim of the mimosa I’ve been sipping for well over an hour. My mother had invited me to brunch with the hopes of pumping me for information about the rumors with me and Bruce. She’s been disappointed I haven’t been more forthcoming on the matter.

                “Mother, why is it that I never seem to attract the right man?”

                “I think the question is more along the lines, why aren’t _you_ attracted to the right man darling?”

                I roll my eyes, tossing back the last quarter of my drink with a flourish. “Unfortunately, life isn’t nearly that simple. I can’t just make myself be attracted to the right man.”

                “Sure you can. Attraction doesn’t have to be all about looks.”

                “That isn’t what—”

                She waves a willowy hand at me, her red-blond hair glimmering in the sunlight. “I know dear. But manners, breeding, and wealth can make a very attractive package if you’re only willing to look. I have quite a few young men still interested in you if you’d like their numbers?”

                I smile warily, “No thank you. You know I don’t like it when you meddle.”

                “I do. But you haven’t made it easy.”

                “I thought you liked Bruce Wayne.”

                My mother’s eyebrows rise and she shrugs her shoulders, “I do. But he hasn’t exactly been good for you. He’s been playing coy with you for years. And look where it’s gotten you?”

                I didn’t want to think about all the months of drugs and wallowing. I’d managed to keep some of the extent I’d fallen from grace from my parents. But not all of it. They know how badly breaking up with him messed me up. And I don’t blame their stoicism about my re-interest in the man given the history between us. We have a turbulent past. Hell, we have a turbulent present and will likely see much of the same in the future. It’s part of our charm.

                I smile weakly at my mother, finding her concern warming. “I know. But this time is different. We’re working through a lot of our problems—” I hope, “And I think we have a future together.”

                She sighs, “I hope so Selina, darling. I don’t want to see you hurt again. You were a mess.”

                “That’s an understatement.”

                My mother purses her lips, “Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to worry any longer. Besides, I’m sure your father is ready for that pound of bacon he’s been begging for.”

                “A whole pound?” I ask, eyeing my father who’s been silently flipping through a newspaper in his stuffed chair.

                “Yes,” father answers without looking up, “a whole pound. I’ve earned it.”

                Mother snorts, tossing back the rest of her own mimosa. “Let’s go eat.”

                I agree and feel like a little girl again when my father kisses my cheek and escorts me himself.

 

                Later that evening, I’m neck deep in a bubble bath with my eyes closed and the sound of Il Divo warbling from my CD player. I’ve used my favorite bath salts, vanilla lavender, and I’m doing my best to put thoughts of Bruce and the stall in our relationship out of my mind.

                I’ve managed to last about ten minutes without thinking of his face, pale and sweat slicked, something like fear marking his eyes obsidian rather than blue. He haunts me even here.

                Frowning, I open my eyes to slits and see candlelight flickering on the bathroom walls. I’m only delaying the inevitable. Eventually, I will lose my patience and confront Bruce. We will be back to square one, where I demand answers, and he struggles not to give them. Frustration bubbles within my chest and I sink lower in the tub, strongly considering just getting out. This isn’t helping with my nerves at all.

                The CD comes to an end and silence falls heavy in my apartment.

                And then I hear the soft thud of knocking on my front door.

                Startling, I sit up quickly and the water in the bath sloshes over the rim to the floor. “Shit,” I hiss, struggling out of the bubbles to reach for my robe. It’s thick and warm on my shoulders and I shove cat slippers over my wet feet as I scramble to answer the door. It’s almost nine o’ clock on a Wednesday night.

                My visitor isn’t likely to be anyone else, save Bruce.

                Double checking with the peep hole, particularly as I’m about to answer with only a bathrobe and slippers on, I feel the hard edge of relief first. Then the soft tail of joy that winds around my middle at seeing Bruce’s familiar face behind the glass.

                I undo the door chain and smile cautiously at him. “Hi.”

                He smiles back, his expression wary, eyes dark and flickering down my frame like soft touches. “Hi. Can I come in?”

                “Of course,” I say easily, opening the door the rest of the way to let him in. He follows me to the livingroom and I flip on lamps as we go. The whole apartment is bathed in darkness and candles still flicker scenting the room with vanilla and coffee bean. The smells soothe and welcome.

                “Did I interrupt something?” Bruce asks, eyes lingering on my wet hair and robe.

                “No. I was just getting out of the bath.”

                He nods, but I can see the flush of pink rising from his collar to stain his cheeks. It softens the irritation I’ve been feeling towards him more than if he were to apologize for ignoring me.

                “I—I came over because we need to talk.”

                I take a seat on the ottoman, crossing my freshly shaved legs in front of me, “I’ve not been the one avoiding phone calls.”

                His eyes, cobalt blue, jump to mine, “I know that. And I’m sorry. But I needed to sort out what I was feeling on my own.”

                “And what were you feeling?”

                “It’s complicated.”

                “Isn’t it always?” I say with a sigh, pulling the neckline of my robe tighter around myself. My hair is dripping down the back of my neck and it’s chilling my exposed skin. “Bruce, I think we’ve danced around this long enough. Just tell me. I’m ready.”

                His brows knit and I see indecision war on his face, “I don’t know if you’d be saying that if you knew what I have to say.”

                “You’ll never know unless you tell me.”

                “Selina,” Bruce steps nearer, his hands flexing nervously at his sides. “What I’m going to tell you, it all happened before I broke up with you. About a week beforehand.”

                I feel my stomach knot but keep my expression neutral. He’s finally going to tell me. He’s going to be truthful for once and let me in. The thought should be relieving. Instead, I feel a tremble of fear rush up my spine at the hitch in his voice.

                “OK.”

                He swallows, giving me a nod, “OK. I need to go back and explain a little. I was working a case at the time involving metaphysical and supernatural creatures that had invaded Gotham. If you remember, I’d had to call on John Constantine for help and he was working closely with me on the case.”

                “I do.”

                “At the time, I wasn’t aware of some of the supernatural creatures that walk the earth undetected. You know I’m more of a science based intellect and I prefer hard facts to folklore. But this time, there was evidence that we were dealing with a—” he looks up, his voice stuttering, “a vampire coven.”

                I blink at him, “Vampire coven?”

                “Yes. They were old and strong. And they’d moved to Gotham with the intent of making it their home. But they also didn’t seem to care about being caught. They thought they were unbeatable. That even Batman couldn’t touch them. And to some degree, they were right.”

                I wait for him to continue, but he’s stopped, his jaw working, eyes cast to the floor. I can see he’s working up to it, but I can hardly stand to remain seated and not join him. I want to rub the tension from his shoulders and kiss the frown from his mouth. I want to remind him that I’ve known him for enough years to forgive and move past almost anything. That I would have died for him not that long ago and if asked again, I likely still would. I love him.

                “Bruce?” I ask hesitantly, watching as his shoulders curve inwards as if to shrink.

                “I made a mistake.”

                “What?”

                His eyes finally find mine again and I can see sorrow there. It cuts me to the quick. “I got too close to one of them. One of the vampires. Constantine warned me that if I had dealings with the leader of the coven, it was a possibility that I could be turned if bitten. I believed him, but there was also a part of me that still didn’t quite believe it. Until I got bit and started to become one.”

                I stare at him, but no words come and so he keeps talking, his words rushed and tight as though he’s holding back tears now. “Within a day I started to change, my body becoming one of the undead. I craved blood within forty-eight hours to the point I would have killed anyone if John hadn’t saved me from myself. He taught me what he knew, then told me that with time, I’d get better at regulating the cravings. I’d get better at living like this. That was almost two years ago Selina.”

                My mouth feels dry and fat when I try to open it and say something but all that manages to come out is a weird cough.

                “I know, it’s a lot to take in.”

                “Yes,” I manage a moment later, pushing to a stand, stepping closer as if to inspect Bruce. He steps back and I frown at him, “So the lack of appetite, the paleness?”

                “All a part of being a vampire.”

                “And you really drink blood?”

                He looks down, “Only from bags. I don’t take from people.”

                “God Bruce.”

                He shrugs a shoulder, “I know. It isn’t what I planned or even imagined as a possibility when I became Batman. But it happened.”

                “Why didn’t you tell me before? I could have handled the truth. I would have handled it better.”

                Navy eyes jerk to mine and fill with pain, “ _I_ couldn’t handle it. I could hardly accept it myself and I didn’t want anyone to know. I was—I was afraid Selina. There is a big part of myself that still is.”

                I bite my lip, feeling tears rush to my eyes, “Bruce, I could have been there for you.”

                “You couldn’t have. I needed time to figure it out on my own.”

                “You didn’t let me. But I could have.”

                Bruce swallows, “We don’t know that.”

                “Bruce,” I whisper, grabbing at an arm to pull him nearer. He doesn’t fight it and I step into his arms, wrapping myself around his middle. His skin feels cool against my cheek and I realize it’s the first time I can’t hear his heart beat beneath my ear. I will never hear it again. Tears swell and then fall from my eyes unchecked and I don’t miss how Bruce goes unnaturally stiff when he feels them.

                “Selina, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

                “I know,” I say softly into his shirt, willing myself to breathe. I always knew there was more to him leaving me. I always knew deep down, that there had to be a better reason than he gave. But hearing it, knowing what I now know, makes my chest ache at the time lost. At what we both went through during our separation.

                “I’m telling you now because—because I don’t know if I should even be here.”

                “What?” I pull back, peering up through wet lashes at Bruce. His mouth is thin and jaw tight. His eyes luminous in the lamp light.          

                “I could hurt you so easily. It terrifies me.”

                “Bruce,” I shake my head, “You wouldn’t.”

                “I would. It wouldn’t take much either. Just one bite, one taste with the right circumstances and I’d drain you dry. I could kill you. It’s why I had to leave you before…it’s why I should do it again.”

                My stomach tightens to the point of pain and I grasp at his shirt hard. “You aren’t going to leave me again Bruce. I won’t allow it.”

                He studies me quietly a moment, one hand moving to trace the line of a tear going down my cheek, “I want to protect you. But I’m so selfish,” his voice has dropped to a strangled whisper, “I’m so selfish Selina because I want to keep you. Even though it puts you in danger. Even though I should never have come back begging. God,” he drags me closer pressing his face into my hair, inhaling shakily, “I don’t want to leave.”

                “Then don’t,” I murmur, tightening my hold on him, feeling suddenly drunk at the closeness and the smell of his skin. He always smelled like the woods and he hasn’t changed. Oak, cedar, and pine. Sharp and clean. “Stay with me.”

                Bruce murmurs something into my hair but I miss it. I don’t care. I’m going to keep him. He can’t walk away from me again, not now that we have a chance of making it. I draw his mouth down to mine and capture him in a soft kiss. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m tasting tears on his lips and they aren’t mine. A part of my heart breaks for this man that I’ve never stopped loving. This man that would sacrifice his every happiness if it meant my safety.

                He shudders when my hands go down his sides then I grasp a hand. “Come to bed with me Bruce.”

                There is a moment where I think he might say no. Where he might retreat and run, but then I see relief swarm his ocean blue eyes and he sighs into me as he starts pressing little kisses on my face. Each one burns my skin with his brand and I welcome the giving and the taking. I’ve been waiting a long for him. I’ve been waiting a lifetime.


End file.
